


Night Terror

by Angie (Angie13)



Category: The Invisible Man (TV 2000)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1641101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angie13/pseuds/Angie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darien Fawkes has a Special fear of the night.  Stocking stuffer!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Terror

**Author's Note:**

> In a fit of fidgets and inspiration. Don't think too badly of me! ^_^ I mean well.
> 
> Written for Miss Pamela

 

 

Darien looked up at the ceiling of his room and frowned a bit, forehead wrinkling in deep, painful concentration. His lips moved in silent words for a few moments before he closed his eyes and his nose crinkled. Then, slowly, he brought a hand up to rub over his face as he pulled himself upright in bed. He made a soft, inarticulate sound deep in the back of his throat, the sort of sound that is the usually the result of a pet turtle meeting a garbage disposal. By the face he made, the taste in his mouth might very well have been the equivalent, too.

Hauling himself to his feet, he padded barefoot over to his bathroom where icy water met slack face. He cursed softly and then, bracing his arms on the sink, stared into the mirror. Yep, there was a nose, two eyes (blissfully brown, thank god), a mouth. He contemplated a haircut for a moment. Then, shaking his head, he pushed away from the sink and staggered off to his little economy kitchen. Two broken eggs later, he decided that toast was probably the best way to go.

Thinking again, Darien crouched and reached underneath the sink to search out a brown-tinted bottle. It took some effort but he wasn't an ex-thief (you didn't have to be successful to be considered an ex-thief, after all) for nothing and he managed to balance bottle and plate in one hand while the other hitched up his boxers. Flopping on his couch, he turned on the television to the most guy-oriented programming he could find at 3am. As he stared at the half-naked girls bouncing around the wrestling ring, he unscrewed the cap from the bottle. Then he took a close look at the level of liquid inside. Sighing, he knocked back a mouthful of viciously eye-burning alcohol.

If this didn't work, there was always the Drain-O.

After all, he had to sleep some time this year and that wasn't going to happen until he could bleach over the memory of Bobby Hobbes singing "I Like The Night Life" at the Christmas party. Oh, god, the humanity.

 


End file.
